Iwaoi/Oiiwa OneShots

Corruption (And You're No Longer Human) 🍞

A/N: Bungou Stray Dogs AU! Basically Iwa is Chuuya and Oiks is Dazai. They said it had slight season 2 spoilers but it's barely.

Enjoy!

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*

There’s something endlessly satisfying in holding Iwaizumi down – a hand buried in his dark hair, pushing his face down; one knee in the middle of his back, pinning him to the dirt; and the hysterical laughter gives way to ragged breaths as his scars sink into his skin once more.

“I-” Iwaizumi coughs, spitting out congealed blood onto the ground, “Told you to fucking s-stop me as soon as I was done,”

“Ah… but it’s too much fun to watch Iwa-chan wreak havoc,” Tooru singsongs in that precise way that he knows pisses Iwaizumi off.

“Bastard,” he growls – one of his weaker insults, if Tooru is being honest, “I used it because I trusted you.”

“And I’m glad you did.” Tooru replies immediately, but he doesn’t say more. Iwaizumi had a very good – intimate, even – idea of exactly how Tooru felt about his use of Corruption. Fuck, Tooru only held himself away because he didn’t need Iwaizumi to know that the feeling persisted, even after years of being apart.

Iwaizumi pushes against his hand, trying to lift his head up. “Let me up, Shittykawa.”

Tooru doesn’t comply. “But Iwa-chan’s still weak right now… like a baby,”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi snorts, sardonic, “As if someone didn’t get off from providing afterca-”

He cuts himself off, but Tooru’s heard it. There’s a part of him that wants to tease – aww, did my cute little Iwa-chan miss me? – but he doesn’t do it. Instead, he gets up and off of Iwaizumi, pulling him to his feet, slinging an arm around his waist. Perhaps there’s something to be said about muscle memory, for Iwaizumi relaxes completely for about two seconds before stiffening in Tooru’s hold.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice reeking with suspicion.

“Taking you home, Iwa-chan,”

“I can do that myself, asshole.”

“Let me make it up to you, hm?” Tooru says, turning his head to brush his lips against Iwaizumi’s temple, against a patch of skin that wasn’t bloody. He shivers, turns his head away, and there’s a tightness of his jaw that Tooru both hates and revels in – he doesn’t know which emotion is more prominent.

“…don’t forget my clothes, Oikawa.”

*

Later, when he’s admiring the arc that Iwaizumi’s back makes against the bed, he thinks about how bad Iwaizumi is at lying – always has been. His teeth are gritted when Tooru slips one finger in, presumably to keep that mewling noise Tooru loves so much in and unheard; but then there’s the way his thighs tremble from where he’s holding them open for Tooru, the way he’s all flushed and lovely, the way he clutches at those stupidly decadent French linen bed sheets of his when Tooru goes deeper.

“So eager, Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs anyway and he’s rewarded with Iwaizumi swinging his gaze around, the sheer spite in them sending a whole another kind of thrill up Tooru’s spine.